


The Greatest Tale of the Votadini

by chantefable



Category: Frontier Wolf - Rosemary Sutcliff
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Dragons, Druids, Gen, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-17 20:18:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12373272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chantefable/pseuds/chantefable
Summary: How Shula slayed a dragon.





	The Greatest Tale of the Votadini

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amyfortuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/gifts).



> The Romans really do not know how it came about that Cunorix married Shula. 
> 
> The rules of succession and the mysteries of the gods of the tribes are truly beyond them.

This is a tale of a woman and a beast.

They say that the power of the ancestral gods was already dwindling in those days; that songs of strange folk rang louder in our verdant fields than the chants to Brigantia and Taranis in the Votadini tongue. They say the Almond's heavy chilling breath was getting frail, that it would not run fast with froth, spited by the presence of the soldiers of Rome at Castellum. They say the might of Traprain Law was seeping through the cracks and vanishing in the mist, that every day professed weakness and defeat.

Slay those idle thoughts in your mind, for they are nothing but lies. 

I, Gault, shall tell you a true tale, and this harp is my witness, this is a tale that was lived.

For once upon a time, a great mist came from far away, and the earth shuddered under a dreary weight. No elder or child slept soundly in their bed, and woe was in the hearts and mouths. The altar-fires were lit, and blazing tongues rose high to the skies. 

Listen to what happened!

Ferradach Dhu, the great chieftain of the clan, was a sage man whose wisdom had revealed itself in kindness and peace. He had been a warrior, and had done dark deeds in his youth, but Brigantia had blessed him with fortune and victory in combat, and the grace of Taranis had lifted his face from the bloodied mud of the battlefield and shined a light. And so, when the time came, his fellow warriors had elected him as their leader, and no better chieftain had been seen in a hundred years. Ferradach Dhu shared riches and ended feuds among the Votadini, and life was bountiful. No noble soul felt ignored, no injustice was done in sharing the spoils, and there was no lack of crops or mead. He lavished favours upon his subjects, and no chieftain could have boasted as much fealty as he. Long were the days of his reign, and happy were the hearts of his people.

Ferradach Dhu had been the chieftain for many years, and the Votadini still obeyed him with pleasure and alacrity. No challenger rose to face him, and no dissent festered amongst the people of the tribe. Willingly, they farmed and traded. Willingly, they bred and sold horses. Willingly, they forged and strengthened alliances, and in the times of Ferradach Dhu, a most cordial bond united the Votadini and the other tribes: the Dalriads, the Damnonii, and the Selgovae. 

More shall I tell you: from all the four tribes, young men were selected, shield-brothers of a willing disposition, and given as recruits for Rome's Frontier Scouts. And that brought peace to the land, and Traprain Law stood proud and secure. With Rome, there was no dispute, for they were content to have the young shield-brothers, fresh from the great initiation rite, and train them in their Roman ways. Rome had no need for their shield-maidens, and so the warrior-might of the clans was not greatly diminished. And in exchange, no harm befell the good people of the tribes. Such was the cunning and the prudence of Ferradach Dhu, emulated by other chieftains, and the Almond flowed full and free.

Truthfully I tell you, the Votadini lived well in the days of Ferradach Dhu, for prudence prevailed.

And so after many years of uncontested prosperity, they began to wonder what would change. For the days are changing and the wheels are spinning: such is the way of Taranis. On the day of the sacred rite, with the blood still dripping hot from the altar, the druids would inquire what fate lay in the future, and would divine the will of the high one as written in red rivulets on the stone. But they could read nothing, only blood.

Confusion began to mar the minds of the people, and confusion breeds opportunity for the shamefully sly to hatch plans for their own betterment. One such man was Morvidd the druid, who, on account of losing influence and personal wealth under Ferradach Dhu, sought to gain more under a feebler, more malleable chieftain. Whether the gods spoke to him, I do not know, but one Midsummer, the druid whispered, gazing into the white-hot fire, that since the blessing of Taranis was upon him, a child of Ferradach Dhu might prove equally wise – and the people were willing to see if one of the man's two sons might prove himself fit for rule. For Ferradach Dhu had two children, by the names of Cunorix and Connla, both sons trained in the ways and brought up in the faith of the Votadini. And Morvidd thought that if Ferradach Dhu named one of them his heir, and the claim went uncontested, then he would have the young man's ear and would be able to steer their hand.

Truthfully I tell you, a person who would warp other's minds for their own benefit is more vile than a rotten egg! Plunge a spear deep into the heart of a druid who exploits your concerns with obscure talk!

And while Morvidd spun the poisonous yarn of his treachery, whispering suggestions in people's ears and filling rash young hearts with unsubstantiated ambition, the gods showed that their glory alone can be undisputed, and that gore and troubles are the mortals' true due.

This day is remembered by the descendants as the day thunder and lightning summoned dark water from the cold depths far, far away, where gods' smiles can be seen in the skies as many colours. 

This water was fated to be exiled from the gods' realm, and, chasing it across the seas, the winds blew it in a great thickening mass, at last bending it to their will into a horrendous mist, the likes of which had never been seen.

When at first it crept from the north, the children fell silent one by one, and the shield-maidens and shield-brothers stared intently into the trembling milky wisps before lifting their arms, because a great sense of danger came upon them. A deafening roar pierced the air, and a haunting presence settled.

In their arrogance, some dared to venture into the coiling wisps, and vanished suddenly before the eyes of their kin and comrades. In vain the others kept calling their names: nothing but a moist breath answered from the mist. And soon, the blades of grass underfoot were painted red with blood gushing forth.

The entire clan was stricken by shock, and great wailing rose in every house and hut. Ferradach Dhu himself appeared on the edge of the misty presence with many attendants, and was humbled by the slick sounds coming from the unknown. The clan mourned the hot-headed shield-brothers and shield-maidens who had been snatched away. For in a most cruel twist of fate, the earth was bathed in the blood of the Votadini: not as a consequence of a terrible murder, or of an assault by invaders, or of human sacrifice to the high one who rules all and demands all, in the name victory, but as a result of some unfathomable horror.

The druids, led by Morvidd, entered the sacred circle and set the sacred wheels in motion, but Taranis only laughed back in indifference. So heard each and every one in the creak of the wheel and in the pointless mumbling of the druids. Woe was in every heart when Morvidd fanned the altar-fire and gazed into it and declared that the gods were silent: there was nothing to be done but to wait until the strange danger revealed itself.

No sooner had the rite ended when Ferradach Dhu was seized by a mighty pain, for a true chieftain aches for their people. And everyone saw how anguished the good man was by the fact that he no longer had the strength and vigour to venture into the mist and banish whatever evil was now its dweller. 

The bards set the harps and flutes to rest, and joined the many voices of the Votadini in the mourning chant. A terrible sadness and a sense of foreboding filled the air. The clan fasted for two days and two nights in mourning, and beseeched the high one for a blessing, but Brigantia would not grant it. The mist stayed, and breathed, and chortled.

And at dawn on the third day, a loud crushing and cracking could be heard on the very edge of the settlement. The first crimson rays of sunshine revealed a dreadful truth: the house of one of the horse-herders was destroyed, and a family of five lay slain, bones glinting white and scarps of red flesh clinging wetly to half-chewed sinew.

All feuds and trifles were forgotten in the face of this great misfortune, and the gruesome deaths of yet more members of the clan pierced the hearts of everyone with immeasurable torment. The druids scrambled to dig through the ashes of the altar-fires and divine an answer, while Ferradach Dhu did what a chieftain had to when faced with such a mysterious foe. He ordered that the true purpose of the cursed mist and the vile intention of its hidden dweller be revealed.

The following day, a group of renowned and experienced warriors of the Votadini gathered all their courage and summoned their strength to dare and expel the horrendous beast. They went to the edge of the mist and listened intently, and ventured in with care, and soon, a mighty battle began. Loud was the clang of swords on that day, and loud the braying of the monster. The hearts of men, women and children quivered tenfold, because the size of it was enormous, and yet its exact features could not be seen. And in the heat of the battle, Taranis opened up the skies with thunder and shone a lightning.

And they saw a head as big as seven horses' heads, and the slow blink of a deadly eye.

Many good warriors were slain that day, and those who had survived could not fight another time. The Votadini mourned their dead in silence this time, and lit the altar-fires in silence. Too great was their grief to speak of it. No one could tell what the meaning of this strange whim of the gods was.

Ferradach Dhu opened the hoards and ordered that the warriors be remembered with the choicest foods and excellent wine. He bade them promise that their noble deaths would not be in vain, and that together, they would expel the beast tormenting the abode of the Votadini.

The druids called for three days of mourning, but the misfortune that had befallen the tribe was too great. For who could fast and chant and honour the dead when licking and sucking could still be heard from the ghastly mist? Who could mourn according to the custom when the winds carried the sound of skulls trampled by heavy clawed feet, and the sickening squelch of human flesh?

The following day, horse-herders and harpers, healers and tanners, all gathered and ventured into the mist with the intention to overpower the beast together. At the urging of the cunning druids, many strong noble folk and brash young warriors joined the party, the two sons of Ferradach Dhu among them. For this was the ploy: should they succeed, whoever landed the killing blow on the great beast would have a bid for the chieftain's throne, and should this person be in the fray at the druids' urging, they might prove easier to manipulate.

Truthfully I tell you, there are people who have no shame and are blind to decency! They would not find honour if Brigantia spat it in their eye!

Again, a great battle began, and the joint forces of the Votadini lured the beast away from the dense safety of the milky mass and closer to the edge of the mist.

And when the sunlight shone upon them all, and illuminated the oozing wounds and torn off limbs, the trampled ground and the open maw of the beast, they saw that it was large and shiny, covered in a tight weave of scales, like Roman chain armour. Its colours were red and gold, and the black of death, and the gray of decay. It thrashed its mighty tail from side to side, and landed heavy blows to the people it struck. It looked like one of the long-necked creatures in the faraway lakes under the protection of the high one in the north. Its breath was stale and putrid, and the slow blink of its huge eye was as horrifying as a javelin piercing your own breast.

Many people were slain that day, and the place was shrouded in silence when the beast retreated, undefeated. Discontent sprouted from the seed of grief, aided by the outpour of fear and horror. What was the meaning of this? Had they displeased the gods somehow, and in what way? Were they being punished for the rule of Ferradach Dhu, his liaising with the Romans and with the High King? Was this a mighty blow delivered by the gods to show them a different destiny?

Driven to madness by drink and despair, many warriors wandered among the fires and swore they would defeat the beast in single combat. In their pressing anxiety, they made foolish oaths and claims to the throne. Such is the nature of the human heart, for everyone is an imbecile when they panic. 

Even the noble and well-bred sons of Ferradach Dhu himself began to deliver empty promises. Weakened by the battle that had lasted all day, they claimed they would ride into the mist and slaughter the beast while it was asleep. Connla, being the younger one and more hot-headed, yearned to leap in the saddle and face his death, because he had already lost some of his friends and was drunk with sadness. Even Cunorix, who was more sensible and level-headed, fully intended to risk his life for a chance to bring them respite from the hungry beast. And neither acknowledged that they had neither enough combat experience nor understanding of these ancient water-beasts to fulfill their promise.

For everyone knows: a wise father does not always spawn a wise child, and a great warrior may find themselves ailing and surrounded by incompetent offspring on their deathbed. This is why fools bequeath their kingdoms to their children and hasten to die to avoid the mirthless sight of a squandered land and rebellious subjects, while clever rulers seek the good hands of suitable successors.

As the folk were engaged in weeping and voicing their anger in hopes that it might unclench the vises around their hearts, night fell, and everyone, from the children to the elders, were gathered in the place of votive wheels and altar-fires. In the darkest hour, when the stars grew dim and the bold blackness of the sky reigned, the beast's repulsive breath rang loud again, and the earth shuddered as it appeared, large and hostile, and undaunted by the previous fights.

Everyone stood frozen in terror, for their bodies were exhausted by battle and their hearts were aching with grief. No one could muster the strength to move, to scream, or to take a breath. Farmers and warriors, bards and druids, the chieftain and his sons – everyone was silent and immobile, horrified by the sight of the beast's heavy undulating body, the flames reflecting from its scales.

In that moment, Shula, a maiden of the Votadini tribe, gathered her wits and stepped forward. She was a trained shield-maiden of great strength, renowned for her prowess on a horse and her swiftness with weapons. Her father was an old warrior who had fought with the beast during the first battle, and her mother was a famed craftswoman who had been among those who had battled it the second time. And so Shula had listened to their accounts attentively, and had heeded how the beast had behaved and where it had been injured; this knowledge prompted her to a great deed. 

With one hand, she wrenched the blazing torch from the grasp of Morvidd the druid, and with the other she took the long spear from Sinnoch, a wise man attending Ferradach Dhu. 

While everyone trembled in fear faced with the wrathful beast, Shula quickly swept forward, brandishing the torch, and, sensing the fire, the creature hissed and stomped. Before the mighty beast managed to fully turn its huge head in her direction, Shula came running and swiftly plunged the torch-head into its wide eye.

The beast cried and shook its head, and the heavy lurch of its long tail disturbed the votive wheels. Thrashing, it opened its maw wide, and everyone could see that each jaw had three rows of sharp pointed teeth.

Leaping over the clawed feet, Shula feinted and sank the torch into the other eye. Fully blinded, the beast brayed in agony, and the wheels of Tanaris rolled towards them, marking the place where Shula was engaged in single combat with the dreaded creature.

Twisting its long neck and hitting with its tail, the beast attempted to reach Shula, but the heavy wheels would hit its feet and belly, further aggravating it, until they rested in a circle around the shield-maiden and the creature clacking its jaws. Stepping onto one of the wheels and aiding herself with the spear, Shula made a high jump and thrust the still-blazing torch into the beast's tender throat. 

As it howled and jerked terribly, attempting to dislodge the thick piece wood stuck in its throat, Shula ran around and jumped astride the beast's mud-slick back, holding herself up with the clench of her thighs. Gripping her spear like a true warrior, she thrust it into the tender spot where the beast had sustained a deep graze during the previous battle; and when the beast rolled, trying to throw her off and crush her, Shula slid off to the side and pulled the spear out before plunging it all the way back in, deep into the throbbing bloody mess. She stood on the beast's convulsing body and twisted the sharp tip deep in the wound until the hilt sank half-way inside the flesh, reaching all the way to the beast's heart and killing it.

That is the great deed of Shula the dragon-slayer!

Great was the joy and the astonishment among the Votadini, that a single warrior had indeed managed to slay the cursed creature in single combat and end the misfortune of the tribe. Merry cries and warm words were on everybody's lips, for a true hero had risen in their midst.

So the chieftain Ferradach Dhu gave Shula the best spear and shield from his treasure-troves, and had the horse-herders find the best horse for her, in acknowledgement of her great feat. And then he gave gold earrings to her, two hoops as fine as anyone had ever seen, and said that no one of such strength and shrewdness had been known amongst them in a hundred years. And so, should the people be willing, Shula would succeed him as the chieftain, for she had won gratitude and admiration with her glorious deed.

And the people looked at the wheels scattered around the beast's dead body, and the ritual torch lodged inside its throat, and saw a blessing of the gods. 

And the druids ran their fingers through the beast's rank blood and painted the altar-stones with it, and proclaimed that indeed the beast had been sent by Brigantia and Taranis to test the strength of the Votadini people, and find a new chieftain in their midst. 

Thus, with everyone's consent, Shula was immediately voted to succeed the good Ferradach Dhu on the day the gods would stop his heart from beating. Having adorned her in gold and fine cloth and the best weapons, as befit his rightful successor, Ferradach Dhu offered the hand of his son in marriage, and summoned Connla and Cunorix, so that she could choose between them.

Let it be known that Connla, the youngest, was the fairest of the two, red-haired and quick-tempered. Many admired his beauty, and he was known as a good hunter and a good rider; moreover, he had proven many times that he was sweet and tender in bed, and many young men and women had composed songs about him to prove their regard. And so Connla was generally considered to be a better match.

But not all berries that are plump and shiny will burst with sweet juice on your tongue, and on that very day, Shula demonstrated once again that she was of a sharp mind and fit to rule. For she chose Cunorix, who was stocky and plain, and whose russet locks had hardly captured a heart, unless you count Romans. But Cunorix was also more level-headed, and followed his father's suit in matters of relationships and negotiations; Cunorix was the spouse for a chieftain, a steady sword to rely on in battle and a sure hand to manage the supplies. 

And so Shula, with a steady voice and a proud stance, chose Cunorix and took him by the hand in front of all people, and received the blessing of Ferradach Dhu.

Truthfully I tell you: that is the greatest tale of our tribe.

With this I, Gault, have finished, and if you liked the sound of my harp and my voice, spare me a coin on this fine autumn evening.

**Author's Note:**

> Votadini: a British tribe of eastern lowland Scotland, in the post-Roman times known as the Gododdin.
> 
> Brigantia: a Celtic goddess, "the high one", associated with the Roman Victoria.
> 
> Taranis: a Celtic god of thunder, associated with the Roman Jupiter.
> 
> Traprain Law: the High King's capital.
> 
> Gault: a British masculine name frequently appearing in Sutcliff works.


End file.
